


Five Times Bryce Used Sex to Get What He Wanted

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bryce Lives, Community: kink_bingo, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Secrets, Sex For a Mission, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bryce using sex to achieve his goals, and how he feels about it.  AU where Bryce and Chuck get together post-series, mentions of Bryce/Sarah and Chuck/Sarah and several Bryce/OMC relationships that Bryce had for the sake of a mission. Goes from his college years to post-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Bryce Used Sex to Get What He Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Some mentions of violence/abuse (non-graphic). Dub-con or non-con elements in that some characters have sex for the sake of a mission/manipulation/etc. Includes Bryce posing as a prostitute and an OMC that expresses offensive ideas and language about sex workers. 
> 
> This was written for photoash for her helpmidwest auction bid.   
> For: photoash, for her generous auction bid. I tried to include as many requests in it as I could, and I hope you like it! Thank you so much for your donation and for your incredible patience and support!!

Sex is a weapon.

Bryce has always known this. 

But it isn’t until he becomes a spy that he really understands how to wield it. 

Sex can be used to weaken your enemy, to make him soft. To make him doubt himself if he ever has cause to question your loyalty. It is one of the most effective forms of psychological warfare. 

Sex can also be used to disarm your enemy, literally. When you’re caught somewhere you’re not supposed to be, you can claim you were there to satisfy your baser desires. Soon, your enemy is putting down his gun so he can be free to use his hands.

But the most powerful way to use sex is as a weapon of distraction. Sex makes your enemy think he knows every inch of you, that he can see what you want from him, that he can read your pleasures and your fears on your body. Sex makes him think he knows you, but in reality, sex is the perfect way to make sure that nobody ever knows who you really are. 

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

 

The first time Bryce used sex to complete a mission was while he was still in college. He would rendezvous with his mark for a few days a week, pretending to be a travelling college student, and then return to California to receive further instructions and to maintain his cover. He wasn’t sleeping with Chuck at that point (though not from lack of wanting), so he didn’t have to feel guilty for going behind Chuck’s back.

Bryce’s target was Misha Ivansky, beloved cousin of the leader of an extremist group. Misha had been tasked with managing the group’s financials and was privy to all sorts of information that usually only hardened fighters would have had access to. Unlike the core members of the group, however, Misha lived in the city and enjoyed the pleasures of life. 

It wasn’t hard to seduce him. Research had shown that Bryce was exactly his type. Devising a persona tailored to Misha’s profile, Bryce’s was pretending to be a virginal American college kid named Tommy who was still exploring his sexuality. Misha liked men who were pretty but butch, who were nominally straight but secretly longed for a man to open them up to new experiences. 

Misha wasn’t Bryce’s type at all. His creativity was pretty much limited to hiding finances from governments. He would occasionally bust heads around town, for his cousin’s interests or sometimes just for fun. He used to play soccer and sports were the only thing he would watch on television -- he didn’t like science fiction, dramas, comedies, or even the news. His only interests were vodka, soccer, money, and sex, and his personality was good-humored and rowdy but rather tedious to Bryce. 

The sex was mediocre, but Bryce didn’t mind. In fact, he was grateful it wasn’t absolutely horrible, because he was planning to keep up a relationship with Misha until he found out the location of the extremist group’s headquarters. Bryce would always pretend to inexperienced, as if each new thing Misha talked him into were frightening and exhilarating. He would lean into Misha afterward, kissing his shoulder in gratitude, as if Misha were helping him discover who he really was.

Of course, Bryce had zero desire to find out who he really was. And he sure didn’t need Misha to discover his sexuality.

He really didn’t feel much when he was with Misha, in fact; it didn’t feel that good, except in the obvious necessary way, but it didn’t feel bad either. Sex with Misha just didn’t seem to have any intimacy for Bryce. In fact, when his handler asked him if it was difficult having a personal relationship with Misha, Bryce tried to seem put out about it to the exact extent a normal spy would – as if it were a miserable situation but a sacrifice he was willing to make for the cause.

Truthfully, pretending to enjoy watching sports made him much more miserable than pretending that moderately bad sex had sent him into thralls of ecstasy. The latter was at least amusing.

When he finally figured out where Misha kept his hard drive, he was able to trace the headquarters’ location and turn over the files on who was funding the extremist group to his handler. Then he walked into the sitting room where Misha was watching (of course) soccer. Two armed men dressed in black walked behind him.

“Tommy,” Misha said, and Bryce could see the exact moment when Misha went from being delighted to see him to realizing that Bryce was about to destroy him.

Bryce kept his demeanor cold and calm as he informed Misha that he was now an asset, and that he would be killed or left in an underground prison forever if he refused. Misha would go to headquarters to obtain weapons they had stored there, and yes, they were well aware that Misha would die if he were caught. Misha would then wear a wire to betray his cousin and friends and get them to reveal the secrets that the agency needed. 

Misha sat there silently the whole time, hunched over, his brow furrowed as he listened, as he occasionally glanced at the exits and then at the two men with rifles who were keeping him there. When Bryce was done talking, Misha looked up and said, simply, “I was so good to you, Tommy. I was so good to you.” As if Bryce’s greatest crime were ingratitude.

The two agents accompanying him took over then, telling Bryce his orders were to go home before everyone at Stanford started wondering where he was. They would be able to convince Misha of the inevitability of cooperation. 

On the plane ride home, he thought about Misha. Stupid, boring, annoying Misha, who was probably half in love with Bryce, who lit up whenever Bryce walked into the room. 

He felt a little bit of pity. But he still didn’t really feel like he gave a damn about Misha. 

He thought of Chuck then, and what he would tell Chuck when he got back. Officially, Bryce Larkin had a coveted paid internship with a financial firm that required travel. Chuck would be glad to hear that Bryce wasn’t going to have to keep up the same travel schedule he had for the last couple of months.

He wished he could tell Chuck that he was in Russia. He wished he could tell him about the art, the music, or about the history peeking out from every corner – he wanted to be able to talk about all the parts of St. Petersburg that Chuck would have loved.

But truthfully, Bryce was grateful that Chuck didn’t know about his other life. Not just for the obvious reason – the danger Chuck would be in – but because he knew there were some things Chuck just wouldn’t understand.

He definitely wouldn’t understand Bryce. Chuck wouldn’t be able to sleep with someone he didn’t care about at all. And he definitely couldn’t do it for months, planning the whole time to betray them. It wasn’t in Chuck to betray anyone. He was loyal to the bone.

When he got back to the dorm room, Chuck grinned and wrapped him up in a big hug. Bryce didn’t know why, but he thought of Misha at the moment. Misha, calling him Tommy, mourning for a love that never happened, confused that Bryce’s heart was cold and hard enough to lie to him for months.

When Chuck backed up, he hesitated for a moment. Almost as if he were tempted to kiss Bryce.

Bryce kept his face neutral, didn’t lean in, and Chuck backed away.

“Good to have you back, buddy,” Chuck said with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Bryce said, and he managed to spit out his next words, painfully: “Hey, you know that girl Jill you keep staring at? I think I should introduce you to her.”

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

The first time Bryce had sex with someone he truly, unequivocally, hated was with Julian Dawson, a smuggler also involved in trading state secrets and the trafficking of forced labor. He was also known for his cruelty, not only to his enemies but to his own people. Bryce had read up on him, and was disgusted by every aspect of his personality. But they needed to replace his flashdrive with a decoy, and they needed to do it without Dawson even suspecting that anyone had been there.

Luckily, Dawson had a penchant for high priced male prostitutes, and so that was what Bryce was posing as. Dawson was very public about his opinion of “whores”; they were stupid, uncultured creatures, good for only one thing. They were liars by nature, they had no heart, and they would steal anything they could if you didn’t make the consequences clear. 

It was a relief for Bryce, actually. If Dawson thought prostitutes were incapable of affection, then Bryce wouldn’t have to pretend. Or, at least, he could intentionally pretend badly.

It had been two weeks since Bryce had gotten Chuck kicked out of school, and he wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be happy. 

Bryce showed up at Dawson’s highly secured apartment, looked around at the fancy furnishings and art on the wall, and gave a big, obviously fake smile to Dawson.

“I’ll break you into pieces if you even think of taking what’s mine,” Dawson growled.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bryce answered. “I was just admiring your taste in art.”

Dawson slapped him, hard. “You don’t need to know anything about art except that you don’t ever put your filthy hands on it. Get on the bed.”

Bryce did as he was told. 

“You’re a very attractive man,” Bryce said, with obvious insincerity.

“I don’t need your bullshit,” Dawson said, throwing a bottle of lube at him, “Get yourself ready. Fast. Spread wide so I can see you work.”

Bryce did. Dawson sat in a chair at the foot of the bed and watched.

A couple of minutes later, he grabbed Bryce by the leg and pulled him to the foot of his bed. Bryce suppressed his reflex to kick the man and allowed himself to be bent over the bed.

Dawson said nothing, just pushed in to Bryce and started pumping in and out. He pulled Bryce’s hair with one hand, without asking of course, and with the other hand held Bryce’s arms at an uncomfortable angle behind his back. Bryce could have gotten out of it, of course, but this was nothing he couldn’t take.

It was hard and fast, and Dawson clearly thought of him as meat and nothing more. Bryce found himself growing aroused as Dawson fucked him, not just from the friction or the pain but from the fact that he didn’t even have to pretend to enjoy it, from the fact that Dawson was treating him like a hole to be used and nothing more. The more he thought of Dawson’s ugly, sneering face, about Dawson thinking of him as a mindless greedy animal with nothing of worth inside, the harder Bryce got. 

When Dawson was done, he came in a splatter across Bryce’s back and pulled out, rough. He went into his bathroom and muttered, “Money’s on the table. Steal anything and you die.”

Bryce stood with difficulty, ignoring his unattended erection, and walked over the table where he grabbed the money and switched the flash drives easily. 

He got dressed, walked out, and rushed to the nearest restroom to jerk himself off.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

The first time Bryce had sex with someone he knew he would have to kill, he had to seduce the man for almost three months. He was already with Sarah at the time, but she was a pro and he knew that she wouldn’t object.

Damien Sunela was a former mercenary who had become the go-to man for a number of criminal organizations. The man was paranoid about his business but was known to make sloppy and sentimental decisions about his long and constant string of boyfriends – someone new every two or three months. 

The man wasn’t hard to seduce. He was incredibly narcissistic, and as long as he was convinced that Bryce thought of Damien as the toughest, smartest, manliest guy in the world, everything was easy.

Truthfully, Bryce didn’t think much of the man. Bland in conversation, bland in bed. Even his crimes were less about strategy and cleverness than about a reputation for brute force. And his kindness was limited to those who flattered his ego or helped his business.

But he was there to do a job. So Bryce did his best to present himself as someone Damien could depend on, meanwhile planting evidence that made Damien distrust his loyal lieutenants. Damien soon realized that he was starting to grow very attached to Bryce.

After a very romantic weekend in Prague, he mentioned to Bryce that he was the only person that he really, truly trusted.

That was good news for the mission. But Bryce knew that Damien _hated_ feeling like he needed someone more than that person needed him. So Bryce pretended to break down and confess that he was overwhelmed by how strong his feelings were for Damien and that this was the first time he ever felt like a relationship was making him think about his future, and he knew that Damien could do much, much better than him, but he would be completely lost without Damien, so wouldn’t Damien please, please think about keeping him around?

Damien smiled benevolently. He cupped Bryce’s face, a little too rough, and said that if Bryce could keep him interested until the summer, he would take him to Denmark to get married. 

Bryce smiled, tears in his eyes, and hugged the man excitedly. He felt Damien squeeze him back, and the pressure sent a jolt through him, something unpleasant and sharp.

It felt almost like pity.

It didn’t last. Two weeks later, he completed his mission, killed Damien, filed the paperwork, and went home to Sarah.

\--

The night he got back, they had dinner together at his place. Take-out, as usual.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked. “Really?”

“Yeah, actually,” Bryce said, “I mean, honestly, I’m so okay it worries me.”

Sarah looked at him, questioning.

“I’m serious, Sarah,” Bryce said, “The thing I’m most upset about is that I’m basically okay. Glad to be done with that mission, definitely. But I’m not wrecked. I kind of wonder what that makes me.”

“A good spy,” Sarah said, equal parts comfort and hard truth.

Bryce shrugged. “I guess I’m just the kind of guy who can sleep with someone for months, convince him I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and then shoot him in the head once I have what I need,” he said wryly. “Go team.” 

He looked down then at his hands, then, at the finger that didn’t hesitate on the trigger. His hands looked strange, like parts of an imperfect android on an old sci fi show.

Sarah gripped one of his hands then, squeezed tight, and they suddenly seemed human again. He looked her in the eye and she told him, “I understand.” 

She did understand, Bryce knew. Anything Bryce had done, Sarah had done too. Anything Bryce had wondered about himself, Sarah had wondered too, and with equally good reason.

It was why Sarah knew Bryce better than Chuck ever could. 

It was also why Bryce could never love Sarah the way he loved Chuck. And it was why, years, later, when Sarah chose Chuck over him, he understood.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

 

The first – and only – time Bryce fell in love with a mark, it happened to be with one of the worst men Bryce has ever met. Olivier Matych was a known arms dealer, but he also had his hands in smuggling, natural resources, mercenaries for hire, the dealings of dictators, and pretty much anything else that mattered in the underworld. The man was brilliant, ruthless, and, for the past two decades at least, unstoppable. He was not quite 40 but had an empire that was the envy of the criminal world. He was known for being handsome, charismatic, the life of the party when he was in a good mood, and extravagantly generous to his favored allies and employees. And for being impossibly cruel to those who crossed him.

It was long-term deep cover, and Bryce’s orders were to move up the ranks and get close to Olivier. Even if it meant that Bryce had to actually do the kinds of things that Olivier’s employees would do. Nothing was more important than bringing the big fish in.

Bryce knew from the start that this was the kind of job that would require him to empty himself out, to become despicable to get close to the despicable. He figured Langley knew what it was doing when they decided that this was Bryce’s type of job.

He started by getting a job cleaning up the outer grounds of Olivier’s estate under the name Terry Walls. Men with guns patrolled the grounds constantly, so there was no reason anyone would think anything of Bryce being there, though he did as usual hear a few taunts about his “prettiness.” The agency staged a shoddy attempt to breach the compound, which Bryce was then able to stop by alerting the guards and helping them use a wheelbarrow for moving cover; for good measure, he knocked a sniper off the wall by throwing a well-aimed rock. 

That got Olivier’s attention, as planned. When the non-battle was over, the guards told him to wait while they explained what happened to their boss, who then walked over to Bryce and looked at him, arms crossed. 

“So. You are the big hero of the day?” He narrowed his eyes at Bryce.

“Happy to help any way I can, sir.”

“My men call me Olivier. They don’t need titles to remember who their leader is.”

“Yes… Olivier.”

“How exactly were you able to defeat the scum who tried to mow us down?” He looked, quite rightly, suspicious.

Bryce demurred at first, pretending that he didn’t want to say. But when Olivier threatened to cut him in two, Bryce revealed his chosen backstory: ex-military, special forces, dishonorable discharge for excessive force against civilians. 

Olivier looked at him for a long time in silence. Then he smiled and winked at Bryce.

It was one of the very few times at work that Bryce didn’t know how to respond. 

But Olivier walked away then, and ordered his head of security to train Bryce to be one of his guards.

\--

Olivier was watching Bryce closely; he was suspicious by nature, Bryce knew. But he was also trying to decide if Bryce had as much potential as he seemed.

Bryce’s next chance to prove himself came when Olivier and one of the petty dictators he was supplying arms to had a falling out. They stoked a riot in the capital city, easy enough with tensions as high as they were already, and in the chaos, they went into the palace to assassinate the dictator, knowing it would be blamed on the rioters. They of course killed a number of palace guards too, but Bryce reminded himself that every single officer respected enough to be part of the palace guard had most certainly committed atrocious human rights violations to get there. The fact that Olivier was also a major human rights violator… Bryce compartmentalized that information.

On important missions – ops, Bryce reminded himself, Olivier didn’t really have a mission – Olivier led the team himself. He was as good at tactics as Bryce was, almost as fast at hand to hand, and an even better shot. Despite himself, Bryce was impressed.

Luckily, it was mutual; Olivier was quite impressed with Bryce. When they returned to Olivier’s stronghold, job successfully completed, he pulled Bryce aside. 

“You, my friend. You are not ordinary,” he said with a smile, almost a smirk. 

“I’m just trying to do my job,” Bryce said.

“Modesty does not become you. It is not your natural attire, no?” 

Bryce smiled despite himself. “You’re right. Most people would say I’m not exactly humble.”

“Humbleness is for the weak. And you are not weak.”

“I’m not.” He looked at Olivier, not quite challenging the man, but making it clear he expected that his talents would be used better than they had been. 

“You know, talent in battle is not the only skill you need in this business. You need negotiation skills, business sense. You need to understand human nature and how to turn it to your will.” 

Bryce could sense that Olivier was considering bringing him in closer. “I have all those things. And I’m loyal.” 

“Ahh, you think I am worried about loyalty. But all my men know what happens to those who are disloyal. It is far too excruciating for me to worry that you could possibly be that foolish. You don’t seem like a fool to me.”

“I’m actually a very fast learner,” Bryce said. 

Olivier smiled, amused by his cockiness. “All right, then. From now on, I will train you myself. If you’re smart enough, I may even promote you some day. You could be one of my representatives.”

“It would be my honor, Olivier.”

“Honor…. That’s right, you’re the ex-soldier. Well, you can forget about honor here. We don’t need honor. We need to win, and that’s it. Can you really live with that?”

“Yes,” Bryce said. And he hid the self-disgust he felt when he realized that he was pretty sure it was the truth.

\--

Bryce did indeed get promoted to be a representative. And six months after that, he was Olivier’s lieutenant, his right hand. Olivier’s other employees whispered about Bryce, that he was untrustworthy, that he didn’t earn his stripes like everyone else. But even his detractors respected Bryce for his sense of strategy, whether in a business negotiation or at a shoot out. And they couldn’t object too much to a guy who had saved almost all their lives at one point or another.

Olivier, in the meantime, had decided that Bryce was not only a brilliant fighter but also the only man in his employ that could match him intellectually. He liked all the ways that Bryce was like himself: smart, tough, resourceful, good at reading people. Lethal to enemies, but with an easy affection for friends. It was easy for Bryce, in many ways; he could act like himself. For most missions, Bryce had to hide his skills, his savvy, to keep his cover and especially to never offend anyone’s ego by showing them up. But Olivier didn’t mind when Bryce came up with an idea that surpassed his own plan; in fact, he cherished it, his eyes sparkling with a genuine pride devoid of resentment that Bryce had rarely seen in his life. Olivier clearly thought Bryce was a rare find, and was grooming him to help lead an ever-expanding empire.

In some ways, this cover was easier than being Bryce Larkin. Bryce had to pretend to be a better person than he was. With Olivier, he definitely didn’t have to do that. 

Not that there weren’t times that Bryce almost quit. Or worse. 

Olivier took out whole families when someone dared to resist him. Mistakes of carelessness – especially loose lips – were met with tortures Bryce had never even heard of, and that was saying something. Bryce had to witness all of this and do nothing.

Sometimes he had to do the torturing and the killing himself, usually under Olivier’s pleased and watchful eyes. It was easier when the victims were people almost as bad as Olivier himself. But they weren’t always like that.

But Bryce would remember his orders, remember the big picture and the millions of lives a successful mission would save. He would remember that his survival depended on ready cooperation, and that if he broke cover, he would be wasting all the previous horrible things he had done for Olivier. And he couldn’t bear to think that all those things had been for nothing.

So Bryce would carry out Olivier’s orders without flinching, without any expression at all. He would then accept Olivier’s proud pats on the shoulder for a job well done, and go back to Olivier’s suite to drink whiskey and talk about future business. Then, late at night, he would go back to his room, stick his head over the toilet, and vomit. 

\--

Bryce was Olivier’s favorite – everyone knew it. But even his favorite didn’t earn trust too easily. Olivier separated all aspects of his work, suppliers from buyers, security of warehouses from security for personnel, so that only he knew all of the pieces and how they fit together. But Bryce could tell that Olivier was eager to have a protégée, and so he made it clear that he wanted to learn as much about the business side as he could, that he wanted nothing more than to prove to Olivier that he could be trusted with more responsibility.

Truthfully, Bryce learned more from him about the flow of money and goods – and the psychology of business – than he had during 4 years of Stanford and a decade at the CIA. The man was a genius, and there was a part of Bryce that couldn’t help but appreciate it a little, even though he never forgot the kind of man Olivier was. 

He was also developing a friendship with Olivier, and though he wished he could believe that it was only in Olivier’s eyes, Bryce had to admit that when he compartmentalized enough – when he focused on the moment enough to maintain his cover, as all his training and experience had taught him to do – he found himself enjoying Olivier’s company. In public, he was grandiose, larger than life. In private – and Bryce was spending a lot of time now alone with him – Olivier was contemplative at times, solemn even, but at other times easygoing. He was a good conversationalist, insisting to no great objection that Bryce learn the finer points of a good Scotch. He talked with Bryce about art, about philosophy, about technology and about tactics. He even listened to Bryce talk about his favorite science fiction novels, eager to hear about the books that shaped Bryce’s mind. 

It was never forgotten that Olivier was his boss – that, for all intents and purposes, Olivier owned him, could have him killed on a whim. But when they were alone, Olivier liked to act like none of that mattered. He solicited honest advice, even criticism, from Bryce, and was actually satisfied when he got it. They played chess together, and he forbade Bryce from letting him win (of course, even trying his hardest, Bryce still only won a third of the time). Olivier was occasionally silly, too, splashing Bryce with water when they passed a fountain if they were alone, or folding little paper airplanes and challenging Bryce to a throwing contest. Those times, Bryce was almost reminded of his time with Chuck in college, but then he loathed himself for comparing Chuck to someone with so much blood on his hands, who had smeared so much of it onto Bryce’s as well.

Sometimes, Olivier and Bryce would sneak out of the compound without security so they could have long talks while walking along the river, watching as the bridges went from dark outlines to bright elegance with the sunrise. 

The man was deeper, more complex, than Bryce had expected. It made Bryce let his guard down in unnerving ways. He asked about Bryce’s past, and Bryce told him more than he intended. Nothing that would be a security risk, but he revealed things – emotional truths – that he hadn’t ever talked about with anyone else. CIA training suggested doing exactly that – it lent authenticity to a cover – but Bryce had never needed to put much of himself in his covers before. He told himself that it was because Olivier was so much sharper, more observant, than other marks, that he needed to use the truth as much as he could. He didn’t like to think that maybe he was actually getting comfortable with this man. Or that he wanted to share his real self with this man.

Bryce really didn’t want that to be true.

It got so hard to keep his guard up that sometimes, while talking and laughing, Bryce had to remind himself what Olivier really was. He repeated to himself, silently, _This man is not your friend. The worst things you have ever done, you have done for this man._

Of course, it was easy to keep telling himself this when he found himself revealing much more of himself than he intended. It was harder when Olivier started to reveal more layers of himself. It was slow at first, little pieces of information, but eventually, Olivier shared his whole story with Bryce.

Before Olivier was an arms dealer, before he was a power broker extraordinaire, he was a college student studying psychology and economics. His family was a moderately big name in organized crime, but Olivier wanted nothing to do with it. It was in psych class that he met the love of his life, a woman named Anya who would eventually become his fiancée. After graduation, she went to work as a volunteer counselor for survivors in a war-torn area, but the violence wasn’t quite as over as the international aid groups had thought; she was killed a few days later.

Olivier quit his brand new job and asked to join the family business. He climbed up the ladder quickly, and he eliminated an uncle and two cousins who saw his fast progress and plotted to have him killed. He thought there would be retribution, but instead it earned him the respect of the patriarchs of the family. They were old and weak and completely amoral, but they figured he was a good bet for expanding their business.

They were right. Within two years, the little crime family had enough power to deal with world players. It wasn’t long before Olivier found an excuse to wipe out the entire force of the town where his fiancée had died.

The story didn’t surprise Bryce. Plenty of appalling men had a few sympathetic moments; Bryce liked to think that he himself was one of them.

But Bryce was surprised to find himself caring about the story, wishing that Olivier could have been spared the grief. He listened to Olivier talk about her: about the way she believed that they would both change the world, about the way she would volunteer at local shelters for abused children and dragged him along too. He talked about the way she would win arguments by refusing to budge an inch and the way she would talk at movies until everyone shushed her. She liked the Clash and judged anyone who said that 80’s music wasn’t any good, and she could order at Michelin starred restaurants with ease, but preferred cheese sandwiches. She would turn the radio on at high volume in the morning and dance while brushing her teeth as Olivier was just barely waking up, but as he watched her bouncing around the bathroom, he could never bring himself to complain about the noise. She liked room service, and she liked wearing the color blue, though Olivier preferred the way she looked in red. Anya had even picked out their potential children’s names already, even though she didn’t plan to have children until they were much older. 

Once Olivier told Bryce who she was, he started talking about her almost every time they were alone. A little bit here, a little bit there, and then moving on to other topics. It went without saying that Bryce was not permitted to tell anyone this information; Bryce doubted that anyone else working for him even knew this woman had ever existed. It was strange for Bryce, to imagine Olivier as young, full of hope and excitement over all the things that life might bring. In love with someone a little too good, too pure, for him.

Once, after reminiscing about a weekend in Italy with her, Olivier looked over at Bryce and asked, “Have you ever loved anyone like that?”

Bryce intended to say no. He distinctly remembered meaning to say no.

“Yes,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Tell me,” Olivier said, leaning in, eyes full of empathy, understanding.

Bryce hesitated. “No,” he said. He knew it was stupid. He knew that after all Olivier had revealed, it would seem callous, disrespectful even, to refuse. Bryce knew he was about to blow the biggest mission of his life because he couldn’t’ talk about it. But still, after all these years, it would destroy Bryce to talk about Chuck.

But much to Bryce’s surprise, Olivier wasn’t angry. He just smiled sadly at him. He said, “Don’t worry. It was years before I was able to talk about her. With time, you’ll be able to as well.”

Bryce nodded, and the gratitude in his eyes was real. Olivier reached over to lay a gentle hand on Bryce’s arm, comforting. Warm, despite its source.

Bryce looked down and said nothing, glad that the hand lingered there.

\--

The first time Bryce sleeps with Olivier, they are both drunk and silly. They grope at each other as they head to Olivier’s bed, and they jack each other off before they are ten minutes in. Olivier grabs Bryce into a rough embrace as they fall asleep in his bedroom.

In the morning, they are sober. Olivier brushes his teeth and tells Bryce to do the same. Bryce expects Olivier to act as if nothing had happened, to pretend that Bryce was just another employee he could use at will. Even though Bryce suspected he meant much more to Olivier than that.

Instead, Olivier makes love to him again, this time with the most skilled blowjob Bryce has ever had, followed by a slow preparation before he enters Bryce in a smooth, full motion.

Bryce decides that Olivier is much better in bed when he’s sober. Possibly fantastic in bed.

Okay, definitely fantastic in bed.

When they are done, much to Bryce’s surprise, he makes Bryce breakfast in the little mini-kitchen in his personal suite. Ham and egg crepes, French toast with nutmeg and orange zest, and strawberries and cream. They eat at his little table and smile at each other, and Bryce feels like a stupid awkward kid for some reason, but the food is delicious.

When they are done eating, Olivier tells him that he would like to continue their relationship, but that if Bryce doesn’t wish to, or if he ever decides to leave the relationship, then Bryce’s position in the organization wouldn’t suffer as long as Bryce is discreet and continues to work competently and professionally. He waits for Bryce’s answer, and he even looks a little bit nervous.

Bryce kisses him. “Just try getting rid of me after this morning,” he whispers into Olivier’s ear, and Olivier smiles.

It feels to Bryce almost like a genuine moment.

But soon it’s time for them both to get back to work. Bryce leaves to supervise the latest weapons cache.

Olivier leaves to oversee a project that Bryce is pretty sure involves setting fire to a rival’s personal home. 

\--

As Bryce and Olivier grew closer personally, Olivier started mentoring Bryce even more, revealing to him some parts of his operation that only he knew. Contacts, storage sites, long-term strategies. The man was brilliant, and more than once Bryce wondered how Olivier would be different if he had been recruited as a spy instead of turning into an international criminal.

The cynical side of Bryce knew that probably the only difference would be that his arms dealing operation would be even more connected. But it was hard to remember that when he was in such close proximity to the man’s charm for so many hours of the day. 

It didn’t hurt that Olivier was also spectacular in bed.

It wasn’t just technique. Olivier was so adept at watching Bryce, at reading him, that even in a quickie he could make Bryce feel like he was losing his mind. Usually, Bryce would be terrified that someone could read his wants, his anxiousness and desires and pleasures, so easily. Especially a target. But somehow, against all sense, Bryce trusted Olivier with this knowledge of Bryce’s body, of his sexual being. He wanted Olivier to know his body.

Olivier was also generous and open-minded enough that Bryce felt like he could ask for anything. Even though he was on a mission, even though Olivier was his boss and mark all in one, even though Olivier had every ounce of power in their relationship, Bryce still felt like he could ask for what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was to dominate Olivier.

Olivier was vanilla by nature. Bryce wasn’t. He switched easily, but what he really loved was having someone place their trust in him, having someone get turned on (instead of afraid of, instead of disgusted) by his aggression, by his animal side. He also liked the other side of it, however; being hurt, being humiliated, being objectified.

It was a risk, asking for this. Olivier might be turned off, might be suspicious. Might be offended if he had insecurities about subbing for a man who was, in real life, below him. 

Instead, Olivier was thoughtful. He listened as Bryce explained his experience, about safewords and limits and all the rest. 

Finally, Olivier said that from the sound of it, Olivier would probably identify more as a dom than a sub. Bryce wasn’t surprised; Olivier loved to make Bryce fall apart.

But Bryce was surprised then; Olivier said he wanted to try both subbing and domming. To make Bryce happy, and to see what both of them might like.

Soon, their nightlife was full of the most adventurous sex Bryce had ever had in his life. Olivier was a terrific dom, making Bryce feel scared and debased and cherished and safe in only the most luscious combinations. And even when Bryce asked him for things that he had never been able to ask anyone for, things that Bryce thought most people would surely think are too fucked up to indulge, Olivier happily obliged.

And, to both of their delight, Olivier liked subbing much more than he thought he would. He didn’t like bondage – couldn’t quite stand to be that helpless – but he liked it when Bryce gagged him during sex, or just fucked his mouth until he almost choked. He liked roleplay too, kneeling at Bryce’s feet, resting his head on Bryce’s knee as Bryce stroked his hair and told him that he was going to punished for his many sins.

This was Bryce’s favorite image of Olivier, the image that would haunt him like a ghost for the rest of his life. Olivier, naked and kneeling, looking up at Bryce with nothing but trust in his eyes.

\--

Sometimes, Bryce would wake up screaming in the middle of the night.

He never used to do that. He used to have more self control. But after he was shot again, after he died in Chuck’s arms only to be brought back once again, his subconscious mind didn’t quite catch up to the fact that he was supposed to be back to normal.

When Bryce would wake up from a dream – about dying or watching Chuck and Sarah die, about failing a mission, about being a child again, worthless and weak, or sometimes just about the atrocities that Olivier had made him do that day – Olivier would snake an arm around Bryce’s waist, would pull him back into the warmth of his body. He would whisper, “Sshhh, just a dream, everything is all right,” and he would say Bryce’s fake name again and again, as if it were an anchor holding him to the waking world. 

Bryce allowed himself to be comforted until he could go back to sleep.

The only other people that Bryce had ever trusted enough to do this were Chuck and Sarah. And those two were off living happy lives together, imagining that Bryce was dead. 

After a nightmare, Bryce didn’t care if he were just there for a mission. He would take a warm, full bed where he could get it.

\--

Bryce is with Olivier almost a year and a half before gaining enough trust to be let in on the innermost secrets, to be given access to records that previously only Olivier himself could touch. His time with Olivier is very productive, and the Agency is pleased: Olivier knows three separate sources of pilfered nuclear materials, dozens of previously unknown smuggling routes, more about the underlying politics of a few countries than even the experts back home knew, and of course the names and locations of hundreds of high value targets. 

When Bryce realized that the last few puzzle pieces of Olivier’s empire were coming together, he knew the mission would be over soon. He prepared himself to give the speech, to walk into Olivier’s bedroom and see his face change as realization dawned. Bryce thought about Misha’s face too, about that shift in his eyes when he realized Bryce was not his friend after all. But Bryce he thought that Olivier wouldn’t go down as peacefully as Misha did.

He would have to tell Olivier that he was going to spend the rest of his life rotting in a tiny dark cell. His genius, his lust for life, and almost certainly his mental health would deteriorate into nothing over many, grueling years of interrogation and isolation. 

He was going to have to tell Olivier that the only human being he had let into his heart since Anya was only there to betray him all along.

When the call came from Langley, Bryce knew that it was coming. He had gotten all the information out of Olivier that he was going to get.

But it turned out that the Agency didn’t think Olivier was likely to give anyone up that they didn’t have already. And they believed that Olivier, with all his skills, allies, and contingency plans, was a high risk for escape.

The order was to kill Olivier and get out of the country as soon as possible. 

Bryce swallowed when he heard. 

He said that he understood and he hung up.

He thought of Olivier leaning back in his chair after a particularly clever chess move, smug and sharp and attractive as hell. He thought of Olivier holding Bryce tightly when Bryce had dreamed of dying again and again and again. 

He thought of Olivier beating a teenager to death because of something the kid’s father had done. He thought of Olivier’s lips, softly sweeping up Bryce’s thigh, of Olivier kneeling in front Bryce, eyes full of trust. 

He thought of Olivier killing soldiers to steal missile launchers to sell to genocidal armies. 

He thought of Olivier weeping over a love he had lost long ago.

He grabbed his gun and put on the silencer. He was already in Olivier’s suite; he was almost always there these days. He walked into Olivier’s bedroom, ignoring the soreness, the presence of Olivier’s body, Olivier’s sex, that still lingered in his body.

Olivier looked up from where he lay on the bed reading. He almost smiled. But he was observant as ever, and saw the look on Bryce’s face.

“You’d kill me to take over my empire,” Olivier stated with disappointment, a wry smile belying his anger.

Bryce took out his gun. “No. Following orders.”

A pause. “You never stopped being a soldier, then,” Olivier said.

“Something like that.”

He looked at Bryce calmly then; Olivier was fast, but Bryce was faster, and they both knew there was no way for Olivier to get away when Bryce already had a gun drawn. 

“Get on with it, then,” Olivier ordered. “I hate it when you dawdle.” There was something in his eyes, something more than rage and resignation.

Bryce didn’t try to figure it out. He pulled the trigger and completed his mission.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

 

After Bryce came back from the mission with Olivier, he went to DC to receive several awards and to turn in his resignation papers. Against all his better instincts, he went to California.

Chuck welcomed him with open arms.

As a friend. At first.

He wasn’t angry (excessively) that Bryce had pretended to be dead (again). He even invited Bryce to join him and Casey in their independent espionage company. Sarah and Chuck had broken up, and Sarah had gone back to work for the CIA again, but nobody was in the mood to tell him why. 

It was strange to think that now Chuck had almost as many secrets as he did. Not as many terrible secrets of course, not as many things that would make people wonder if you were worth it after everything, but overall, probably almost as many in number. 

Bryce was home a few months before Chuck finally trusted that Bryce was really sticking around this time. Chuck celebrated the realization by kissing Bryce and leading him to his bedroom as their hands swept their clothes off their bodies, dropping them on the hallway floor as they went. 

It was the first time since Olivier that Bryce felt alive.

Soon, he and Chuck fell into an easy pattern. They worked together and went home together and were generally ridiculously domestic. 

Chuck was a good spy now, Bryce could see, even without the benefit of the Intersect. Morgan was even doing a decent job running the surveillance from HQ, which was a much bigger surprise.

Even Casey was warming up to Bryce a little. At least he had stopped rolling his eyes at everything Bryce said. Now it was more like half the things he said. 

Things were going well, Bryce thought. He would never have believed it, but he was actually able to be himself for the most part around Chuck. And the big surprise was that Chuck could handle it. Maybe it was being with Sarah for all that time, but Chuck didn’t flinch when Bryce talked about previous ops, even lethal ones. Not that Bryce ever mentioned sleeping with any of his targets.

And he definitely didn’t ever tell Chuck about Olivier. Even if he did wake up a few times whispering apologies into Chuck’s neck, as Chuck’s arms held him close. After he calmed down, Bryce could tell that Chuck wanted to ask what he was apologizing for. But Bryce didn’t want to tell him it was for killing one of the only three people who had ever loved him. And he definitely didn’t want to tell Chuck that for almost two years he had cuddled up with a man who made him kill civilians just to send his rivals a message. 

But even though it was obvious that Chuck wanted to, he never asked Bryce what he was sorry for.

Apparently, Chuck really did understand what it meant to love a spy.

And generally, Bryce was impressed with how well Chuck recovered after a dicey mission. Since they ran the show themselves, they didn’t have to dip into morally gray too often, a fact which Bryce appreciated (he could tell that Casey appreciated it too, not that the man would ever admit it). But Chuck now reacted to almost getting shot or getting captured or any number of other things with the aplomb of an experienced operative. He had come a long way.

It was almost enough to make Bryce forget why he had refused to let Chuck become a spy long ago. 

Until Chuck came back shaken from a standard and successful mission, and Bryce couldn’t figure out why.

After much prodding, Chuck confessed: he had had sex with one of the targets. The guy had walked in on Chuck about to rifle through his hotel room; it was the same jackass who had been making lewd comments at Chuck the whole mission, and he assumed that Chuck showed up because he was actually turned on by this.

There was no way for Chuck to refuse without destroying his own – and Casey’s – cover. 

Chuck hunched over on the couch, his head in his hands.

“I’m so sorry, Bryce,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Bryce leaned into him, put his arms around Chuck’s waist. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Chuck. You did the right thing.” He ran his hand up and down Chuck’s back. 

Part of Bryce just wanted to shoot the man who had made Chuck feel like this. Part of him just wanted to tell Chuck to quit his job, to yell that he had never wanted Chuck to be a spy, that he had never thought that sending him the Intersect would lead to anything but an analyst’s job, that he was sorry he let Chuck into this world in the first place.

A small, terrible part of him wanted to shake Chuck by the shoulders and say, “What the fuck did you think it meant to be a spy?!? Of COURSE you have to use your body, you poor stupid kid!”

But then Chuck said, “I never intended to do this to you, Bryce,” and Bryce understood.

“It wasn’t cheating, Chuck. Believe me, no one in their right mind would say that you cheated. And you and Casey would be dead if you hadn’t. You can’t really think that’s what I would prefer.” He put a hand on Chuck’s jaw, running his thumb along it, willing Chuck to understand.

“You can really forgive me for this?” Chuck said, and Bryce felt a tug of guilt for some reason. Maybe for all the forgiveness Bryce had never asked for.

“Nothing to forgive,” Bryce promised, and he pulled Chuck in for a hug, feeling Chuck’s muscles relax with relief. He felt the wetness of Chuck’s tears on his shoulder, waited for Chuck to weep, to sob, but it was just a moment of silent crying before Chuck leaned back and wiped his eyes.

“Have you – have you ever done anything… like this?” Chuck asked him.

Bryce paused. This was not the question he wanted to answer. “Not since we’ve gotten together. But… yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Bryce waited for Chuck’s judgment, for Chuck’s questions. 

Instead, Chuck leaned in, eyes full of need, and said, “Then you do know what I’m feeling.”

Bryce hesitated. Then he said, “Of course I do,” and brought Chuck in for another hug. Chuck lingered there, and Bryce stroked the back of his hair.

They sat there for a long time then, facing each other on the couch, talking. Bryce said little, but asked Chuck questions, nodded with apparent understanding as Chuck talked about how violated he felt, how dirty. How, when the guy’s mouth was on him, it was all he could do to not run screaming from the room. The man had been attractive enough – even sort of Chuck’s type physically, Bryce knew – but that wasn’t even on Chuck’s mind. He couldn’t separate the man’s body from all the terrible things that the man had done. He felt such repulsion, such disgust at every touch. 

Chuck continued talking, and Bryce listened attentively, showed agreement where appropriate, reached out to pat Chuck gently on the thigh or to hold his hand. 

He didn’t let on that as Chuck talked, there was something dark and cold growing in the pit of his stomach. Because although he was putting on a good sympathetic show, the truth was that he had never felt that way about using his body. 

Using sex was usually just a minor annoyance. Depending on the partner, it could be a major annoyance. In rare cases, it was a perk of the job. 

It was sure as hell a lot kinder than using his body as a weapon that maims, tortures, and kills. 

But even with the most repulsive targets, Bryce had never felt like something deep within his psyche was being violated, that he was giving up something irretrievable. 

Bryce tried to tell himself that sex was just part of the job. No reason why sex should be different than any other kind of work, spy or otherwise. He told himself that there were lots of people who just had a healthy, non-Puritanistic view of human sexuality, who just didn’t think sex was that big a deal.

But really, Bryce knew that he wasn’t one of those people. It’s not that he had a healthier view of his own body. If anything, it was the opposite. He just expected that people would want to use him, and that he wasn’t worth anything if he didn’t know how to be used. He just didn’t care if he fucked someone he was lying to, someone whose life he was about to destroy. He was just the kind of person who could kiss every inch of someone’s body, could lie in bed with a man afterward and listen to him whisper all his secrets, and an hour later shoot the man in the head.

As Chuck kept talking, Bryce kept thinking about this, about the reason that Chuck found it difficult when Bryce never had. He knew it was the same reason that Bryce had taken to spying like it was home and Chuck struggled with it still. The same reason that Bryce was good at killing people and Chuck was able to turn killers good. 

He knew it was because Chuck was whole in ways that Bryce would never be.

And so he listened to Chuck, smiling sympathetically, nodding, hugging and holding and promising that everything would be all right, even as his gut filled with dread, as he knew that everything Chuck was saying was more proof that they should never be together, that Chuck would never understand him, that Bryce would never even want Chuck to understand him.

When he had listened a long time, Chuck finally asked him, “Tell me, Bryce. About the times when you had to, you know…. What did you do to… cope?”

Bryce felt a wave of panic. 

He couldn’t tell Chuck that he had never had to cope, that he went about his business as usual and didn’t think twice about the people he slept with, any more than he thought about the people he extorted, lied to, or killed. He couldn’t tell Chuck that people were there to be used, and only an idiot – or a really, really good person -- thinks that he’s the exception. 

Bryce managed to keep his cool. He paused, then leaned in and kissed Chuck’s lips.

Chuck looked at him questioningly.

“That’s what I did,” Bryce said, “When I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had done, when I felt dirty. I spent time with someone I really cared about, someone I genuinely wanted. I reclaimed my body as my own.” He leaned in again and kissed Chuck more deeply, and Chuck kissed back, eager.

Chuck backed up then and grabbed Bryce’s hand. “Let’s go,” Chuck said and nodded toward the bedroom.

Bryce realized what was happening: Chuck wanted to try it. He wanted to forget everything that had happened today, wanted to retreat into Bryce’s arms. He believed Bryce that it would make everything feel better.

Bryce nodded and followed Chuck into the bedroom.

Bryce paused as Chuck plopped down on the bed, sitting on its edge. He could see that Chuck was desperate, that he would do anything to blot out the feel, the taste, of the other man, even for a second. 

It was the least Bryce could do to help.

He picked Chuck up and threw him onto the middle of the bed. He straddled Chuck and leaned down to kiss him, his tongue working Chuck’s mouth until Chuck moaned. He pulled Chuck’s shirt off, kissed a line from his neck to his stomach, then pulled off Chuck’s pants and took his own clothes off too, as Chuck grabbed at him, as Chuck’s fingers clung to him like his life depended on it.

Soon, Bryce was working his fingers, slick with lube, into Chuck, kissing his neck and shoulder. He told Chuck to focus on him, to think of nothing but the sensation of Bryce’s mouth, Bryce’s hand. He knelt then on the bed and lifted Chuck’s legs up, and he lined up to enter. Chuck was still looking at him like Bryce was there to save him, like he needed this to keep going, to live.

He pushed into Chuck slowly, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. 

It was slow at first, gentle, but then Chuck moved the pace up and Bryce obliged. Chuck looked like he was concentrating, like his entire focus was on trying to think of nothing but Bryce.

Bryce finished Chuck off with his hand, and it was more difficult than usual; Chuck usually came easily for him. But Bryce used all of Chuck’s favorite tricks, and he got done what he needed to. He felt Chuck clench around him and came soon after.

Bryce pulled out and lay next to Chuck, holding him tightly. Chuck pressed his face into Bryce’s chest, and Bryce was afraid to ask what he was thinking about.

He hoped that Chuck was thinking about something good.

But at least he wasn’t thinking about all the times that Bryce had used sex on the job. All the times Bryce had been too empty to give a damn that he had fucked someone he hated.

Bryce learned a long time ago that sex is a weapon. It’s the perfect way to make sure nobody ever knows who you really are.


End file.
